Always Comes the Spring
by ArtemysFayr
Summary: Companion collection to ACTD following Devona Cousland.
1. Chapter 1:  Convergence

_A.N. OK. So this is hopefully going to be my longest Author Note in the beginning. Just have to do some housecleaning..._

_1) This collection is a companion to my main story, Always Comes the Dawn. I will update it as that story proceeds...with several updates within the next couple of weeks (hopefully week) to bring Devona up to where I am at in ACTD. ACTS will make references to what happens in that story, so if you want to just read this collection, you may be a little lost. Sorry, but I wanted to use Devona CousCous as a way I can focus on honing my ability to capture emotion, while ACTD is to practice novel-writing apparently. XD_

_2) I've become convinced that my muse is a goth. Srsly. She likes dark and depressing and will only rarely give me the inspiration to do something that can bring a smile to one's face. Especially with Devona's story - expect a long, cold winter of bitter and tragic events and emotions...but be rest assured that always comes the spring!_

_4) I don't *know* if my muse got this idea from reading about Miri1984's "Caged", but if you like the idea of a non warden CousCous whom Howe tortures, and want a more in depth (and I'm sure better written) story, I encourage you to check that story out. I know I will be as soon as I get through this first part and can be *pretty* sure I can't be accused of stealing ideas! XD_

~V~

Her world was falling apart in flames.

Her mother, Eleanor, was cradling her dying father's head, singing him a song Devona recognized from her youth. Eleanor had told her once that the song was one she had sung to Bryce while huddling close to the small fires they built during Maric's campaign to reclaim Ferelden from the Orlesians. She called it her song of victory.

Devona clasped tightly onto her father's hand as she tried to fight off the tears. _Tears will only get in my way. I need to have my vision clear to if I am to kill that bastard. _A dry hand wiped her eyes before returning to her father's hand. His scarred but much loved hand soon glistened with her tears.

Cala, her beloved hound, whined behind her, sensing the grief she felt, and anxious that there was nothing she could do to aid her. She gently pressed her muzzle against Devona's back, and whined again before sitting beside her mistress and giving her something solid to lean on.

Her mother's voice stopped suddenly and the tears flowed freely as she caressed a face now devoid of pain. Devoid of life. Devon let out a haggard cry and brought her father's lifeless hand to her lips, kissing it gently with both her lips and her tears.

"We're on-on our o-own, pup." Her mother forced out in between her heaves of loss, using the pet name her husband had used to call her only daughter.

A name, a voice, Devona would never hear again.

The two women wept for their husband and father, their training partner, their adviser, their friend. Eventually Eleanor took in a deep breath and gently took her husband's hand from her grieving daughter and placed both his arms clasped across his chest while murmuring his favorite verses from the Chant. Devona let her mother do what she could for a proper funeral, weeping into her hands before she fell upon her Cala, wrapping her shaking arms around the ever-steady mabari and burrowing her face into her most loyal friend's grey fur. Cala lightly nuzzled Devona's shoulder, trying to comfort her as best the hound could.

~V~

_Stomp._

Wailing turned to muted cries.

_Stomp stomp_

Tears are wiped from grief-worn eyes.

_Stomp shuffle stomp._

Prayers are said for their foes quick demise.

~V~

Mother and daughter clutched their swords in their hands as they both brought themselves to their feet, each slowly bringing their breathing back under control using the method taught to them as warriors. At her mother's nod, Devona took up a position right beside the barred door and raised the sword to her face, pressing it against the cool metal, and forcing herself to forget all that had happened before that moment and focus on the battle that was to be. Her mother also pressed her back against the cool stone wall right beside her. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said.

~V~

SLAM!.

They were outside.

SLAM SLAM!

They wanted in.

SLAM SLAM – CRACK!

They were here.

~V~

As the first man plunged into room Devona brought her sword down with enough force to cleave the man's foolishly held out sword arm from the rest of his body, which she kicked hard against the opposing wall, a sharp _crack_ resounding in the small room as he collapsed. As Devona recovered her stance, Eleanor threw herself at the next man of Howe unfortunate enough to make his way into the room. He took his eyes off his fallen comrade too late to repel the blade as it slammed down into his shoulder plate, bringing him to his knees. Eleanor took a step back and let her daughter finish the man off, which she did with relish, her sword arcing towards the man's exposed neck with all the rage she felt at the bastard who had betrayed her family. His head went flying behind him, splattering the men who had been ordered to kill them with their comrade's blood.

As Devona readied herself for her next swing, Cala launched herself at the next man, causing him to fall back in fear. A wicked grin played across her lips and she took a step forward to end his despair herself- when suddenly her back arched and she heard the most horrific scream come from the very depths of her soul. _PAIN_.

"Devona? _Devona!"_ she thought she heard her mother scream out, but her eyes could see nothing but white light as her limbs jerked of their own accord. Perhaps there was the sound of metal clashing against metal, more growls and howls, but soon enough there was naught but silence.

As suddenly as the pain had begun to ravage her, it stopped, and she collapsed with closed eyes onto the stone floor with heaving breathes, trying once more to perform the meditation exercise she had had drilled into her so many years ago. As she gained control of her breathing she slowly she became aware of a warm sensation enveloping her right hand. She brought her trembling hand to her still weak body and cracked an eye open before she became frozen with shock. Blood. Darting eyes soon found its source and she cried out as she flung herself back, trying to get as far away from this reality as she could.

Her head cracked against the solid wall behind her and she collapsed to her side, looking into the dead gaze of her mother before her world faded to black.

~V~

"Oh. What a _good girl_ she is, knocking herself out for us. I've always admired her for her sense of _courtesy- _her father raised her up _so _well. Tomas will be disappointed, of course but such is the way in the world...Well then, tie her up! I want her delivered to my estate as soon as possible."

"As you wish, Arl Howe"

~V~

_Reviews are always welcomed... XD_


	2. Chapter 2:  Filly

_A.N. The hmmm...inspiration/idea of this chapter has haunted me ever since I read it in a Mercedes Lackey book waaaaay back when. Blame her for it. Goth Muse has been pestering me to write it out for a while now..._

_A.N. This is a rather perverse chapter, and honestly with some extra flourishing could easily be on kmeme, I think, or whatever its called now. It is **disturbing**- but it *does* have a point- to illustrate how much of a bastard Howe is in my story. If you already know that, feel free to skip this chapter. One more chapter of winter after this...then things should get better for my little CousCous. XD_

~V~

"My men tell me you've been…uncooperative" he stated as he walked slowly through the door, sounding curiously pleased at the idea.

She spat on the ground in front of her, unable to see the face if the voice's owner but knowing full well whose it was. A rough, dirty cloth was then firmly lodged in her mouth, preventing her from performing such an action again.

"The Cousland filly still has her spirit intact, hmm?" Howe pondered outloud, facing her as he walked into her view, one hand held idly behind his back as his eyes lingered over her unclothed body straining against her chains. Her arms were hung above her head, latched to a hook in the ceiling and at such a length that she was forced to stand on her tiptoes. Her calves ached from the effort.

She let out a muffled snarl and lunged at him, the hatred in her eyes slicing through Howe. Devona succeeded in only gaining a few inches toward him as her wrists grated against the cuffs that held her in place overhead, blood dripping down onto her face but she took no notice of it, nor of the pain. Her hatred for him masked everything else.

He chuckled as he watched her, then focused his eyes on someone unknown behind her, "Did Charles do as I asked?"

Apparently the man behind her gave Howe the answer he wanted as he nodded and continued, "Good. And the results?"

"As you thought, Arl Howe"

"Ah, good. The unbroken ones are always the most enjoyable, hmm?" He said to himself as his eyes focused back his prisoner, a crooked smile playing across his thin lips. "I say yet again, your father raised you so well, my little filly." He drawled out as a hand leisurely caressed, then kneaded one of her breasts before firmly grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. With appraising eyes, he suddenly jutted his thumb between her teeth, and out of surprise she opened her mouth. Howe only got a second to look at her teeth before she snapped her jaw shut, narrowly missing his thumb. He chuckled again, and lightly pushed her head to the side, "Spirited, indeed," He murmured approvingly.

"Your guards behaved themselves?" He asked, knowing full well what his men often did to those he had seen fit to imprison, before he turned an appraising eye to her once more, noting with approval how the lean muscles tensed and relaxed and then tensed and relaxed again…

His head guard's voice broke him out of his reverie, "Of course, Arl Howe. They knew she was yours, alone."

Howe didn't bother answering, instead he reached out and lightly caressed her ragged hair, tsking as he noticed that the golden sheen that he had so often admired before was gone. Dirt and other…_things_ matted her once luxurious mane and he withdrew his hand with disgust.

"I thought I ordered her hair washed?" he demanded as he looked beyond her again.

"She…she wouldn't allow us…" stammered the man, clearly dreading the Arl's reaction.

"Get a servant in here _now_ and comb her hair out at the very least! I want it shining! I want it _golden_!" He shouted out, finally bringing the hand he had held behind his back to the forefront so he could slap his other hand for added emphasis. Devona couldn't help but stare with both dread and curiosity at the contraption the newly visible hand held.

He noticed the direction of her gaze and started to smile, walking back over to her as her head started to jerk backwards as a rough comb tried to make its way through her hair. She grunted in pain as it tore through some knots, ripping some of her hair out with every tug, but she kept her steely blue eyes focused on her family's betrayer and killer, nostrils flaring in defiance despite her current naked and chained condition.

He held the object in his hand in front of her face and twirled it slowly, "Beautiful, isn't it? I had it made _especially_ for you." His hand was gripped around a palm-length long cylindrical wooden handle that was rounded on one end, and from the other end flowed a full plume of long hair that looked similar to hers- blonde and thick with a slight wave. Or rather, similar to how her hair looked, back when she cared. Back when her father and mother still lived.

Her brows furrowed together as she tried to understand what he was saying, _For me?_. He, however, felt no need to enlighten her, contenting himself to merely watch her small winces of pain as she felt hair being jerked out of her head. Soon, the brushing stopped and she heard the sound of feet scurrying out. Howe's hand then snaked around and grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled it towards him sharply for closer inspection, causing her to release a yell in protest. He nodded to himself, pleased with the results before snarling and grabbing a larger portion of hair and dragging her struggling head close enough to his mouth that she could feel his hot breath on her ear.

She heard his breath turning ragged and it made her struggle harder, though it seemed to do naught but excite him more, "You always did have such a beautiful mane, my sweet little Cousland filly..." He paused, filling her ear with the sound of his heavy breathing before continuing, "And today you shall finally have a tail to match…" He whispered to her, watching in dark delight her reaction as he lightly tapped his contraption in the precise area where he intended to place it. Her eyes went wide and though the cloth muffled her, she screamed and started to lash out as best she could.

Howe smirked and took a few steps back as he admired the display before he glanced at his men who stood by the doorway, "Get her ready." He stated nonchalantly as he turned and walked to a corner where a rack stood while unfastening his belt.

Hands reached up to unlock the chains she was bound to on the ceiling, while another man freed her feet. A third man than grabbed her twisting upper body, and another prevented her legs from thrashing as they carried her to a platform that stood only a foot or so off the ground, four lengths of chain attached firmly to hooks on the wood. Her abdomen was pressed against a wooden block and each of her appendages was then locked close to the platform top, preventing her from moving her limbs at all.

For the briefest of moments the cloth was freed from her mouth, and the resulting scream was heard throughout the dungeon…but such screams were commonplace in Rendon Howe's personally made hell. There was no response. A cool metal bar was shoved into her mouth followed by the cloth again, muffling her howls.

Her scream was cut short when she suddenly felt her head being pulled back and she finally realized what exactly she held in her mouth as a sharp crack from a leather rein smacked against her bare flesh. She let out a moan and wanted to just collapse and curl into a fetal position, but the wooden block below her prevented her from doing so. Tears streamed down her face, as she wished for herself to wake up and find this was all a vile dream of a demon. Her mother would cradle her head and sing her a soothing song while Nan would make her a hot cup of her favorite tea…

Her body started to shake uncontrollably, understanding at long last that there was nothing she could do to stop what was going to happen- what he intended to do to her. There would be no Grey Warden swooping in on a griffon, nor a heroic son of a Bann aspiring to rescue the imprisoned daughter of a Teyrn, nor even a templar in shining armor sworn to protect and defend the innocent rushing in to save her. She realized now those tales she had read about were all fantasies, all lies. This was reality. This was how the world really worked.

"That's a good filly." Howe whispered, his voice raspy as one of his hands stroked her heaving sides.

She then felt a cool pressure searching her, soon followed by a sudden thrust.

Her back arched and she screamed out in pain before it faded to whimpers and sobs.

"And such a lovely tail it is too."

~V~

_A.N. QQ_


	3. Chapter 3:  Sight

_A.N. Last bit of uber depressing chapters. This one is sad, but not as mentally disturbing as the previous one...and pretty important in her story..._

~V~

The cool water sloshing over her face brought her back to her unwelcomed reality. Her muscles tensed reflexively, but instead of lashing out at the man she knew who stood in front of her, all she could do was strain against her bindings. A strap across her mouth muffled her shouted curses.

The man before her sniffed before nodding his head curtly as if he had received confirmation on a point he had been pondering.

It had been…days, weeks, perhaps months - time was nothing but a blur of periods of absolute aloneness interspersed with violating violence - since she had seen the murderer of her family and of her innocence. The flash in her eyes and the flaring of her nostrils revealed to him, however, that her hatred of him had diminished not an ounce since she had first been brought there.

"I once had a stallion whom refused to follow where he was led." Howe stated, slowly, as he brought his hands to his mouth, lightly tapping his thin lips in thought as he started to pace, "Absolutely _gorgeous_ creature. However, while he obeyed when I rode him, he was an absolute terror on my servants- biting; kicking at them. Eventually, thank the Maker, they figured a solution out." He paused in his pacing to look at her, his gaze calculating, "They would put a cloth on his head, blinding him. They could then lead him wherever they wanted then. To hell and back, I liked to say" His glance shifted to a man behind her and he nodded his head.

Warm air from the forge in the corner rushed over her, and she relished the warmth- as the only warmth she had felt was the angry, impersonal hands of the men who guarded her as they held her down. Beyond that, she merely had a thin shift and a thin blanket to shield herself from the cool stone floor and walls.

"My men tell me you are a lot like my stallion- too willful, and apparently you've even wounded some of them? Which, I must say, upsets me greatly as good men are so _hard_ to come by. He sniffed again and resumed pacing, "I've contemplated various methods to bring you in line. My men have been tempted to free you from the burden of having hands, for instance. But I wouldn't want to mutilate your exquisite form. No, instead I thought of my stallion." He nodded again and took a few steps backwards, allowing ample room for a man to lumber his way in front of her, his hand gripped around a long metal pole that radiated hot heat. Uncomfortably hot heat. Her mind couldn't process what was going to happen, but her body knew. Her hands started to jerk, trying to loosen the straps though she knew it was useless. The leather held tighter than iron. The rage in her eyes soon turned to fear and her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

A wicked smile started to play over Howe's lips, watching her reaction with relish before he continued, "But, unlike him, you have no need for sight, do you?"

As if a cue had been given, the large man lifted the searing hot rod to her eye level. She tried to turn her head away, but the wood blocks on each side of her skull prevented such movement. As the sharpened rod drew closer the only thing she could only let out a whimper and cry the last tears she ever would.

Her world went white. Then black.

Forever black.

~V~

_A.N. Again, my poor CousCous. But I promise it'll get better. :)_


End file.
